Tag Archives: grave

Occhiata

Rarer still, the crest of tides

The phantom women dance and bide

Where laughter speaks in ocean waves

And cold mindless solitary graves

Midnight shadows fended and staved

.

Quieter still, the fall of tides

The phantom women sleep and hide

Where sorrow cries in ocean waves

And moonlit fields of dreamless naves

Midnight shadows that can’t be saved.

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Somnolence

I want you to swim past

Beyond the scattered polaroids

Covering up the linoleum floor

.

And I want you to breathe in

The memory of my lost phantasm

.

Drown as if your sleeping sternum

Was nothing but a mere tidal wave

And simply taste the particles of glass

That fall on your skin like dying snow

.

They’ll whisper secrets, will you take it to your grave?

.

I want your hands to feel numb

From the frozen stars asunder

I want your eyes to feel scorched

From the sunflowers dipped in gold

I want you to feel s o m e t h i n g

.

And I want you to tell me

How it all feels to you

Would you tell me how it feels?

.

Will you tell please me

What it’s like to feel?

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Belial

I will defend that we are the vanquished
And you will not make our decisions
I won’t pretend that I’m not a victim
Of a world that will not listen
They will fall, nothing that I can’t overcome…

~*~

Rise from your grave

And save yourself

The angels won’t miss

A blurry little detail

.

Devour their promise

Crushed fingers lift

From another prayer

That you sent back to hell

.

They will all thank you

Someday, you think boastfully—

But for now we’re content

Cursing you back to your death.

~*~

Conquer the battles one by one
Crushing the head of what’s become
I’m screaming at the top of my lungs…

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I Will Be Nothing (Without Your Love)

~*~

Breathing In My Words

Let me make your lungs burn

With the fire and the smoke

Feel the wrath of the temperature

Bring your heart back up to choke

Let me make your lungs burn

With the cigarettes and the dirt

Taste the wrath of this vindication

Bring your heart back up to hurt.

~*~

The Shadow Of Who I Was

It doesn’t make sense to haunt me

If all the ghosts are still sleeping

But I’ll be your rough concrete grave

Don’t close your eyes while I’m dreaming

Your disappearing act is getting subtle

Static song whispering to the radio

I don’t ever want to see your head ache

But I have to dissect it to see what you know.

~*~

Time, Like The Lines Are Red In Between

I’ll sink into the tangled web you weave

Find safety in the voice that sinks ships

Drowning’s a mercy than to watch you leave

And arrogance will make me cold and sick

I will be nothing without the skyless sea

But you’re next to nothing to ever envy me

And come this morning when I take the abyss

The tidal waves behind you won’t ever miss.

~*~

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Lost Paradise

In my young boyhood—should it thus be given
T’were folly still to hope for higher Heaven!
~Dreams; Edgar Allan Poe

~*~

A shot of nepenthe lay waste to ruin

What might have been a clandestine heaven

With dreams that gazed upon the yonder

Of mysticism, limerence, and wonder

Altercations, though idyllic its lambency

Spare nephilim hearts and exquisite reverie

Wherefore doubt may have and doubt may be

Upon befallen tears of quiet syncope

Empty grave rather dreamless, hellfire cold

Rose above rampant flames that scourge the soul

This solitude threats me more than mercy

Lost in the spirits upon a past that never shall be

Yet, still I lay my hands upon dark lilac skies

Wishing for a memory that even seraphs dare defy

A sip of nepenthe lay waste to overtaken

What never was and never shall be my secret heaven.

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Blood Will Have Blood

The reverent situation embellished in derelict plinths

A monolithic monument for the glorious and the bold

Calm deceit that shackled itself by the crumbling base

Of the cavalier and honourables, now but history aged

Voices of the casualties pilfered from pernicious graves

What must be forgotten is an imprint of those who saved

The damned beaten down into the ground from which they lay

Sacrificing blood so clockwork eyes may live to see another war-bent day.

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In The Presence of Perdition

“And it is from this world of darkness
Which come the evil, destructive forces of man’s nature.”

~*~

Come one, come all, to the audience of the deceased

Have a taste of the pleasure that your rotting tongue missed

Sit before the actors regurgitating lines in vaudeville sarcasm

And your skin is stitched directly to the burning emblem

So curse all the horrors and scream at the fainthearted

A minor threat, a copycat’s tragic death, bloodshot gazes averted

Give out the two-faced masks that conceal the grotesque

For that flimsy veil of deception that only ire savages protect

So hold your breath and shut your lungs, there’s no other place for the living

Break your grasp and lose control on the mausoleum graves we’re dancing

I’m built for blame and bland on sins, severed eyes won’t see the true vision of hell

And I can’t be saved by devotees and war-bent crimes they preach on the chapel

But don’t worry, I’ll still clap along to the act until my blistered hands catch on fire

Dante’s inferno is just a burlesque caricature compared to this hellish life that even the devil desires.

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It All Falls Apart

I wish I could, but I don’t always
Keep the promises I’ve kept
I wish I could, but I can’t always
Give whatever I have left
And now it’s all so clear, doesn’t anyone
See what’s happening here?

~*~

Put me back together, just another plea unheard

Walking away from tragedy, walking with the truth

For elastic tongues can deceive us no longer

Collapsing narcolepsy is a premise for the fervour

.

Time had a deadline, and we’re not built to last

Every time I look back is just a bullet from the past

Reminded of the way it was before the war began

And ended with waste and sorrow, and a broken man

.

The space, the divide, the disconnected furrows

This time as we fired the shots, we made sure to be thorough

Didn’t give me a choice, just a white flag to surrender

Shouting seventh chances from another graceless pretender

.

What could I have done? What would you choose?

I was so ready to give it up, though I didn’t want to lose

What was there to take? Was there anything to fix?

I was paying for my dirty crime with capricious tricks

.

Everything I am, reduced now to what I once was

Blood on my words and on my hands, unremarkable and crass

What can’t be forgiven now lays in a grave so shallow

Who knew that when everything falls apart, it leaves a scar so hollow.

~*~

It falls apart form the very start, it falls apart
Seems like everything I touch falls apart
Everything around me falls apart
When I walk away from you…

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fill in the blanks.

“And it’s four in the morning
I’m just trying to fix myself
What the hell did I do?”

~*~

blankness.

a constant void

washed-out

into a bleached white

still dirty, yet everything

has been scrubbed out

fastidiously, like

the writings on a blackboard

and the chalk dust

lingers in your fingertips,

the kind that you can’t blow away

and you’re stuck with

that unpleasant texture on your

hands for the rest of the day.

you’re zeroed-out;

multiplied, divided, and subtracted

until even the calculator

doesn’t know how to answer

except for a shameful

syntax error…

you don’t know where you

went wrong in your calculations.

now you’re staring dully

at the beige ceiling

listening to the rhythms

of a nameless music attempt vainly to

make your heart bleed, but it’s

all fucking static to you,

just another distraction to

keep you grounded

as gravity drags

you down in your grave

without even so much as a

respectful funeral or a dated tombstone.

your thoughts are as

senseless as every nerve in

your once-hurting flesh

your body got used to the pain,

one might dare guess

but the truth is you can’t feel it anymore

because it’s no longer your own—

to control, to use, to move around in to

your free will and accord

and you’re just pretending to perform,

waiting for the fateful day that the

puppeteer snaps your marionette strings, and

you drop lifelessly on the

shabbily-decorated stage of your existence.

you don’t even know where these

nonsensical thoughts are originating from;

all you know is the constant empty

sensation, a flatlined perception,

draining every bone in your borrowed body

physically, emotionally, and mentally

until you’re nothing more than

an amorphous bag of viscera

dripping numbly on that plastic chair

still gawping insensibly at the

rorschach beige ceiling, all the way to pure

b l a n k n e s s———

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The Soldier In The Desert

Well, after all the blood that you still owe
Another dollar’s just another blow
So fix your eyes and get up
Better get up while you can…

~*~

so tell me, what have i done

to deserve these icy shivers

you dripped down my spine

and halted my temperature?

.

i only wished to take respites

and thaw this spastic relation

i never thought you’re weary

fathomed into a sunken inure

.

but grudges develop into gall

and interpretations turn awry

communications break down

and scars leave defaced marks

.

though was this my sin or yours

praying to the deities of hearsay

and believe gossip from tongues

refusing thus to light the sparks?

.

so tell me, just what have i done

to deserve your crashing bullets?

dismayed gunpowder sending me

straight down into an early grave

.

i only wished to defuse the placid hate

and cease this ineffectual, aeonian war

but perhaps both of the perpetrators are

enjoying such pain too much to be saved.

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